


The Human Animal

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s05e04 Detour, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:42:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: "Can you stop talking about work for 5 minutes?"





	1. Chapter 1

"Pop quiz," he says, trying to gather his thoughts as she leaves the wine and cheese on the nightstand.  
Coming back from the half-dead made them hungry for life, craving new flavors, mouthwatering change. Her teasing tastes rich, like dark chocolate with a pinch of chili.  
Scully came to give him a taste of what he was dishing out over the last four years and he can't take his eyes of the extra undone button on her shirt.  
_If I were walking through the valley of shadow..._ She stalks closer, stepping out of her shoes, bare feet on the motel carpet.  
"What animal will attack the strongest leaving the weakest to escape?" Sounding casual, pretense like defense, the prey wary of spooking the predator away.  
Fingernails scrape over the fabric of his shirt as she grabs a fistful and pulls him to his feet, circling and turning.  
"Can you stop talking about work for 5 minutes?" Gentle push sends him down to sit on the edge, hands free to pull the skirt up slightly as she straddles his thighs, climbing on the bed.  
"Can you make me?" The bed dips under their weight, unsteady balance makes them hold on to each other.  
"Is that a challenge?" Small hands on his shoulders, the valley between her breasts right in his face, he can smell her perfume; that's all she needs to render him speechless.  
She towers over him, his hands on her hips; too slim, to close to the surface, like painful memories. The second of hesitation registers immediately and she softens into him, arms closing around him, cradling him against her chest, coarse cheek against paper thin skin. He can hear her heart beating, strong and fast, full of life.  
"Shhhh" she breathes, fingers in his hair, angling his lips up to hers. "Shhhh."  
He lets go of the past and holds on to her. Warm thighs beneath his palms, bunching up the skirt farther up and around her hips, he cups her ass.  
Even though the light is behind him, the two, 40 watt bulbs under dirty lampshades hide their secret even from their own eyes. It's her and it's not her, it's a new Scully, one who's done playing games.  
She pushes him flat on his back, and keeping him down, trails kisses, from the hollow of his throat and up. Fingers pulling gently at his hair, guiding, the tip of her nose a scout, where it goes, lips follow. His Adam's apple bobs as her tongue tastes the skin there, already forcing his head back, she wants to taste every inch of his jaw, all the way to the hollow behind his ear. Wet line along his ear, breath hot and heavy.  
"I love your scent." She whispers before catching the earlobe between her lips, pressing gently.  
As she nibbles kisses along his cheekbone, his hands wander up and down the backs of her thighs, bolder with each pass. Stroking her cheeks, tips of fingers almost burned by the heat. Tentative at first, he feels the cotton, then the give of her folds opening, then the damp spot where he most wants to be.  
"Do it." She whispers, slipping her tongue between his lips, meeting his for the first time. Hands on her ass keep kneading, he kisses her back, sloppy and hot, a brush, as lick, tug of lip, gentle bite. She breaks out from the well of his mouth, gasps for air, "now."  
One pull of fabric to the side and he's there, two fingers two knuckles deep in her wet, hot center. Her lips are on his again, tongue in his mouth, giving back his thrusts. Action, reaction.  
Wet fingers, he starts exploring, stroking and searching, hunting for her clit. The moment he touches it, she breaks the kiss again, head thrown back sharply, and on his next pass, hidden in his neck, panting.  
She's folded above him, her heat miles away from the cock tenting his pants, but she's gasping and moaning, sending shivers down his spine and back. Two fingers inside her, pumping hard, two fingers circling her clit, she whimpers, dripping wet onto his slacks.  
He can feel her tighten when she tracks back, each lick wiped with a kiss, each kiss licked away. All she can taste is his cheeks and neck, his mouth is a honeytrap set for her lips.  
She sucks on his tongue and he presses hard on her clit.  
Body jerking violently, small, sharp teeth almost bite down and sagging limp on top of him, she breathes out, so he can breathe her in. Hold her in.


	2. Chapter 2

"I think I ruined your pants."  
Her voice sparks a strained laugh. Gathering herself up, propped up on her elbows, their eyes meet and her smile lands on the upturned corner of his mouth.  
He finds the zipper in the folds of her skirt and pulls at it, the skin warmed silk retreats before his hands. She gave him an inch, now he asks for a mile, but it's always give some to get some; she sits up, wickedly sliding a bit down, her ass grinding against the bulge in his pants.  
"Look at me," she says, palms flat on his chest, his hands on her waist against bare skin now. He opens his eyes.  
She's flushed and disheveled, blouse untucked, skirt bunched up around her hips, her panties are black. Ghosting tips of her fingers over his nipples, she moves down, leaning back, arms crossed, catching the hem of her blouse and up and away. Face hidden for a second, before she shakes out her hair again, dropping the blouse on the floor. All of this she does painfully slow, moving her hips slightly, lifting, rolling, shifting, maddening. Her bra is skin tone lace, nipples like crop circles beneath it.  
Her hand travels down, his gaze fixed on it, he can't help but notice her too slim figure, collarbones and sternum, ribcage expanding with each breath, it breaks his heart a little, but she's unashamed. She takes his hands and guides them back up, and he doesn't have time to be sad for her.  
The textured lace tickles the palms of his hands, and as he gives her a gentle squeeze she grinds her ass against him. His groan makes her laugh. Their eyes meet and his warning is bounced back by her encouragement. He moves his hands, feeling pebbled nipples catch on the fabric, trapped between knuckles in a firm grip. Her head falls back, hands cover his, keeping him in place. She likes it, he likes it, but it's not enough, so he lets go, just to slip the straps down her shoulders, she leans forward, his arms around her torso, velvet skin on the inside of her arms, he files that for later, fumbling with the clasp that gives on the third try. He takes the bra off, and she's naked from the waist up. The need to hold her becomes overwhelming, but when he tries to pull her down, hands brace on his shoulders, elbows lock; startled, he stops.  
She pins him down with her weight, and he falls back to her hips, a safe space, squinting to see her smile as she hooks one finger under the button of his shirt.  
"I want to feel you too," she calms him, slipping the button through it's hole, but not too slowly.  
"You feel this?" He pushes her hips down, grinding against her ass with a groan of pleasure. Bracing herself she scratches his nipples with a little too sharp fingernails, making him buck against her, feeling the heat of her through the fabric of his slacks.  
"Oh, yes," she gasps. She leans over him, stealing a swift, sloppy, tongue-in-his-mouth, kiss. Giving up the slow trek down and pulling at his shirt, he lets go of her and takes the buttons from the most one down, and goes up, both rushing now, meeting somewhere in the middle. She covers his hand, a silent stop, wanting to do that part herself. He feels like a gift, as if she's unwrapping a present.  
She parts his shirt, and thankful for a warm day, finds bare skin. Her palm flat on his sternum, solar plexus, the heart chakra. He can feel the electricity between them, but no one stays clear tonight. She bites her lip, smiling and fascinated, her turn to learn the textures of him, the smooth skin, the light sprinkling of chest hair...  
He knows her touch, he'd recognize it on his death bed, he did to be honest, but this touch is different. This is a caress, somewhere between a stroke and a tickle, he lays down giving in, arms spread wide in invitation. She's right, he loves it, he drowns in her touch, hands traveling up and down, learning the shapes, the muscle patterns, his shoulders and neck, then down, pecks, abs and sides, she moves back, making him chuckle, he's ticklish if done right. She grinds down undoing his belt at the same time, and the buttons. The end of torture is near.  
This time, she climbs back up, sliding her whole body up his, a kiss here a lick there, and when his arms close loosely around her, she doesn't fight him. She kisses his neck, and the feeling of their skin touching, her weight finally in his arms, spells heaven.  
A silent agreement and a knee braced between her thighs, her arms locked around his neck for a second, and her feet no longer dangle of the edge of the bed, one leg hooked around his thigh. She stares up at him, lips swollen, flushed.  
The kiss is languid, thorough and on his terms this time, he learns the texture of the roof of her mouth, the sharp edge of teeth against the tip of his tongue, her breath shaking against his cheek, slender arms around him. Traveling down, he kneads her breast again, all of this together sends her of the edge, making her writhe, rubbing herself on his thigh. She lets go, trying to push the skirt down, her other hand simultaneously slipping past the waistband of his pants.  
"Who's impatient now?" he teases, deliberately ghosting his hand to her waist and between the fabric, skirt first. All he gets is a huffed out laugh and lift of her hips. The skirt falls to the ground, followed by black panties, exemplary team work.  
From ankle, through calf, fingers wrapped around her thigh, he indulges his sense of touch. He knows her sound, breath and voice, by heart; it conjures images he collects since day 1. He knows her scent and therefore her taste feels familiar, but touch? The feeling of her skin is a complete stranger. She's soft, obviously and incredibly, velvet and silk, with just a bit of coarse hair guarding her sex. He feels her not just with his hands, but hot skin on skin, pulsing and shifting with a mind of her own. The sole of her foot on his hip is a first, toe under the waistband brings him back, right, he's still half dressed.  
"This is awkward," he chuckles, and rolls of her, lifting his hips, pushing pants and briefs down, before she can jump him, and she almost does, manages to prop herself up on one elbow. "No you don't," pants kicked to the floor, he has her pinned back down.  
"Socks too, Mulder," she laughs, pulling his lips down, holding him in place, forcing him to do it blind. He falls onto her; can't do it all, he's not Clark Kent, he's just a guy, holding his dream girl naked for the first time, so much for grace and seduction. There.  
The moment he's done, her leg hooks back around his hip, she's still wet, or again, it's hard to decide, too little blood in his brain to think. With her hands wandering and hips grinding, skin fever hot and lips hungry. She's raw passion, and that is his gift, as if he just unwrapped it. She draws him in, and he settles between her thighs, hard as a rock, done humping her thigh.  
"Sorry," he chuckles, breaking for air, her gaze puzzled and dazed.  
"For what?" she can't stop the kisses, his chin and neck never got so much love from anyone, to be honest.  
"For this," and he pushes into her, fast and hard, making her yelp in surprised, her face one of focused pleasure, "this won't last long."  
Short, strained laugh escapes her lips and this time he moves slower, watching her face, stealing kisses, like she had, sloppy tongues and lips.  
Wrapping her thighs around him, she shortens his trips, he can feel her grow tighter with each thrust, nails mark his skin. He can't hold back anymore, he falls into her arms, cheek to cheek, pumping hard in frantic pace of primal need. He really wanted to savor this, but her whimpers turn into words, _fuck, yes, like that, there, don't stop,_ and he can't stop, because her heat is real, her scent, her voice, the wet sound of their bodies meeting.  
She bucks under him, shoulders lift of the bed as she holds on tightly, trying to pull him in, and that does it. As close as they are, she still wants more of him, for real. He crashes into her arms, empty and spent, sweat on his back cooling fast. Scully pulls the duvet around them in one last effort of the evening.  
He falls asleep with his lips against her cheek, wondering, if everything could feel this real forever. If anything could ever be this good again.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a gif from ["Passionate Souls"](https://passionate-souls.tumblr.com/post/167567261113/passionate-souls) on tumblr


End file.
